Blurring The Lines
by yellowninjaduck
Summary: Kurt gets beat up by the football team. He meets someonehe didn't hope to. Kurt/Puck, it's gonna be a long one. T for violence and language


**This is my first story. Enjoy, and I apologize for the violence in this first chapter. It'll get nicer!**

**Chapter One**

Kurt wished to God that he still had his car. His dad had taken it away after the tiara incident, so now Kurt was stuck walking to and from school. It wasn't that he didn't like the walk; actually, it was really good exercise. No, the problem was the fact that he had to walk home alone. It took a good twenty minutes, each second of which he half expected to meet up with the football team.

This afternoon, his fears were realized.

He was just turning off a side street to take a shortcut through the park. It looked like it was going to start raining, and he wanted to get home before it did. Gucci made nice shoes, but rain boots they were not.

He had his iPod in, and almost didn't hear the yelling at first. Confused, and wondering what they were saying, he took out an earbud.

"Hey, faggot!" called one of the smaller members on the team. Kurt stayed his course, hoping that if he ignored them, they might give up. The group fell into step behind him. He stared at the ground ahead of him.

"Hey! Homo! Is it true you sucked Anderson's dick?" laughed another.

Kurt started to walk a little faster.

"You little shithead! Listen to me when I'm talking to you!"

Kurt was starting to get scared. He didn't know what they were planning, but they definitely weren't holding slushies. He glanced nervously over his shoulder. They were catching up. He didn't dare start running, not yet. They'd catch him instantly. He'd just have to keep walking, hoping someone he knew would pass by.

"Hey, you fucking fag! Get your ass back here."

Kurt faced pointedly forward, trying desperately to come up with some sort of plan. Nothing brilliant came to him, but he managed to trip over his own feet. He caught himself, but stumbled. The football team found this as good a cue as any, and broke into a run. Though he knew he could never outrun them, Kurt began to sprint. He was almost exactly halfway between the school and his home and there was no way he could make it to either. Not only that, he was in the middle of the park on a rainy day. There was no one who could help him, and he was well aware of this fact.

This wasn't going to stop him from trying. If he couldn't outrun them, he'd have to outwit them. He was smarter than all of them combined, he reminded himself. Given his current situation, the thought was not as comforting as it usually was. Maybe, he thought, just maybe he could lose them in the woods. He was smaller than them, and he used to always hide there from his primary school tormenters. He'd be able to get between the trees much faster than his pursuers.

It comforted him a little to know his change of direction sufficiently confused them for all of thirty seconds. Maybe, he thought, this might just work.

His breath was coming in short gasps, but he wasn't going to stop to rest. Winding between the trees, he could still hear the team not far behind him. He didn't need to look back to tell they were still coming; he could hear their laughter and periodic shouts of, "We'll get you, fag!"

He wasn't fast enough. Someone pushed him from behind and he flew off balance. Groaning, and sprawled out on the wet fall leaves, he casually wondered if the dirt being ground into his pants leg would wash out.

He didn't get to finish this thought, however, because of a sharp kick to his stomach. He gasped for breath, but it didn't seem to want to enter his lungs. Again, they kicked him. He curled himself inwards at the pain, but still he couldn't breathe. He was getting dizzy.

They were all standing above him now. Though his eyes were blurred with tears, he could still see them smile. They leered at him as one of them grabbed Kurt by his shoulders and spun him around so he was facing a blonde sophomore.

"You can run pretty fast for a faggot. Did we scare you or something?" came a mocking voice from behind him. Kurt struggled and kicked, screaming for someone, anyone to help him. No one came, and a hand was quickly clapped over his mouth. "Save your voice for Homo Explosion."

Kurt stared at the sophomore in front of him with wide eyes. He knew he must look pretty pathetic, and it made him sick. The boy looked at him strangely, and Kurt hoped it was guilt. Enough guilt to make him stop. Enough guilt to make him tell the rest of them to stop. He then proceeded to kick Kurt in the groin. The hands on Kurt's shoulders let go and he fell down. He was blinded by white hot pain.

He vomited. It hurt so much that he could bring himself to care that the whole team was laughing. "I guess he does have balls after all."

"Please," he croaked, "Please stop."

They picked him up again. "Oh God, please stop. Please don't do this." He couldn't stop himself from crying out when they hit him again. He fell, open mouthed, into his own vomit.

They kicked him one last time, smearing the vomit as he jerked, before leaving him. He didn't move; he couldn't move. Tears slid down his cheeks, silently at first. Tears turned to sobs, and he cried until he couldn't breathe. He sat up and rested his head on his knees, not caring about the dirt or the smell.

Kurt didn't know how long he sat there like that. It was some time before he stood up, looking around for where his bag had dropped. As he scrolled through his incredibly short phonebook, he realized that he didn't know who to call. His dad? He would try to take his to the hospital, or worse, call the police. If the police got involved, Kurt didn't think he'd survive another week at McKinley. Mercedes? Maybe, but for his pride, he didn't want her to see him like this. Blotchy eyed from crying, and covered in what he didn't want to think about. That ruled about just about everyone he knew. He couldn't let them know what happened.

He sat back down; he was still dizzy. He had no one to help him, and he was scared. He closed his eyes for a few minutes before standing back up and starting for home. He shuffled slowly down the sidewalk, praying to God he'd make it home safely without meeting anyone he knew along the way.

"Hummel?"

"Damn it," he muttered angrily, "You can't even give me my dignity, can you, God?"

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Go away, Puckerman," Kurt spat.

"Seriously, Hummel, what happened? You look like shit," Puck called as he came closer. "Dude. You're bleeding." He gestured to Kurt's forehead.

Kurt reached up tentatively. He felt something warm and sticky and brought his fingers down to eye level.

"Oh," Kurt said in disbelief, "I'm bleeding."

Puck seemed unsure of what to do. He opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it again as though forgetting what he was going to say. He raised his hand as though he was going to touch Kurt's face, but ended up just dropping it at his side. Kurt stood staring incredulously at his now-red fingertips.

"Who-who?" Puck could not bring himself to finish the question. He already knew the answer. Hell, a couple of months ago, that would have been him doing that. Sometimes he still did. Never this bad though. Kurt had never looked like this before. He looked lost. Puck didn't know whether he should call 911 or what, but he knew he didn't want to have to deal with any cops nosing around.

"Do you need a ride home or something?" Puck asked, half hoping Kurt would say no.

"I'd get your car dirty," he said distantly as he surveyed the mess of what had been a new outfit.

"It's okay; it's a crappy car anyways." Puck found himself saying. He didn't even know why he was offering. If anyone saw them right now, he'd be so dead.

Puck led Kurt to where his car was parked at Mrs. Madder's. He'd just finished with business. "Get in."

Kurt practically fell into the passenger seat. After giving Puck directions, he leaned his head against the cool window. He closed his eyes, and Puck thought he was asleep until he heard a muffled choking noise. Uneasily, he glanced over. Shit, the kid was crying. He could not deal with this. Thank God, he thought, as they pulled onto Kurt's street.

Kurt's bottle green eyes snapped open. "You can drop me off here," he said as they approached his house. Puck pulled the car into a stop and Kurt opened his door. He turned back to Puck. "Thanks," he murmured, "Please don't tell anyone about this."


End file.
